


The Dance

by hakura0



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Hook-Up, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakura0/pseuds/hakura0
Summary: "Billy, do you ever get the idea we're dancing around something?" Goodnight asks as the pair of them sit around a campfire. There's nothing but dark around them, as far as the eye can see, no one else around but the horses.





	

"Billy, do you ever get the idea we're dancing around something?" Goodnight asks as the pair of them sit around a campfire. There's nothing but dark around them, as far as the eye can see, no one else around but the horses.

He watches as the light of the fire dances on Billy's face, and tells himself that's all he's watching.

"No. I don't dance," Billy answers simply, and Goodnight elbows him as he gives a hint of a smile, and passes his bottle of jack over. Billy takes a drink from the bottle, but doesn't pass it back yet. "What makes you think that?"

It's too dark, even with the blaze, for Goodnight to be able to really read his expression. He shrugs instead, mulling over whether to even continue this angle.

"Nothing," Goodnight tells him finally, backing down. Coward, he called himself, silently. That was worse in his book then the things he wanted to do with the man next to him. He nods towards the bottle in Billy's hand. "I think that's just getting to my head."

Billy doesn't quite nod, but he stays silent for a long moment, and eventually takes another drink. "What if I said that I lied? Just now."

"I would say that's a hell of a thing to lie about," Goodnight says, just this side of too measured. Billy offers him the drink back and he takes it, and a swig of it, eagerly.

"You just did," Billy shrugs.

"That's a fair point." He takes another long drink of liquid courage, closes his eyes to extend the moment before the inevitable and appreciate the burn. "Alright -- you're a fan of Whitman, aren't you?"

Billy meets his eyes, only glancing away for a moment, not confirming or denying but waiting.

"...and so am I. If you catch my meaning." Goodnight looks down at the remaining amber in the bottle, lit brightly in the fire, and then over to Billy as he holds out a hand.

Billy puts the bottle to his lips, leans his head back and swallows down the remaining liquid. All that Goodnight can bring himself to do is watch, almost transfixed.

Once the bottle has been drained he sets it aside, looking over at Goodnight with an almost knowing smile.

"When we were washing up in that river, you noticed, didn't you?" Billy asks, wary but unflinching.

It emboldens Goodnight some, and he laughs. "I noticed that you had," he tells him, "but it wasn't just the river. But damned if I know how much of it was wishful thinking."

"Now what?" Billy asks, and Goodnight's sure he looks more relaxed than he usually does, even bathed in firelight as he is. "I'm following you, remember?"

There are a half dozen things that Goodnight knows he could do to put this off further, and part of him wants to. To tell Billy they can continue this conversation somewhere with more alcohol.

"The hell with it," is what he winds up saying, moving close enough to get a grip on Billy's shirt and move him closer - hesitating mid-lean just long enough to see Billy's face still moving towards his. He closes his eyes as he presses into the kiss, and he can feel Billy's hands on his lapels, can taste the remnants of the whiskey on his lips.

As soon as it's over it's a blur of memory, of taste and smell and touch and they both almost laugh with something like relief of pure adrenaline but they don't. They kiss again, on the side of more fevered, hands moving from their perches to seek out exposed skin, to explore.

By the time they both pull away they're breathing hard and fast, ecstatic and on their way to aroused.

"We should turn in," Goodnight says, almost lazily. "Otherwise I don't know how much longer I'm going to stay such a gentleman."

Billy laughs, still almost high on the euphoria of the former moment, only a little disappointment in his eyes. "You don't have to be." He assures him.

"Is that what you want?" Goodnight asks, and Billy looks him in the eye, a hand gripping the fabric of his coat once more.

"We know what we want," Billy tells him, voice heavy with something, and Goodnight kisses him again.

They don't go far; further than touch an exploration and the pile of clothes beside their piled bedrolls - than skin on skin, their hands on each other's shafts and their eventual mutual release. The kerchief that Goodnight soaks with water from his own canteen afterwards that they both clean up with.

They laugh, after. A coat pulled over both of them as they lay next to each other, somehow unable to part. It's a comfortable feeling, and Goodnight doesn't remember when he last felt that relaxed.

They dress, eventually, before they sleep - just in case. But the rolls stay side by side, next to the still-dwindling fire.

Goodnight reaches out one last time before sleep takes them, mischief in his eyes as he claims on of Billy's hands and brings it close enough to press a kiss to his knuckles before letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> References to Walt Whitman, and/or his works, were used as a code by men in the Old West to indicate that they also had an interest in other men.


End file.
